a forever within the numbered days
by SkyeWriter
Summary: River/Eleven.  River and the Doctor share an intimate moment after a quiet evening together. Fluff  sort of .


**Author's Notes:** No, I don't know what I'm doing writing River/Doctor fluff, either. Super special thanks to Charina (.com) for beta-ing.

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><p>It was a low-key, quiet evening. A glass of wine for her, a glass of cider for him. (He'd tried the wine at dinner earlier and swallowed it with a grimace. She was just grateful he'd refrained from spitting it out like he usually did.) The evening was warm enough to open the windows in her sitting room, and an occasional breeze swept the curtains out in gentle billows.<p>

They reclined together on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into his chest, close enough to hear the staccato rhythm of his hearts beating. It was, by all accounts, a lovely evening.

She'd broken out of Stormcage in a fit of boredom a couple of months ago. Dodged around the universe here and there, and then, just for the fun of it, settled down and gotten a job teaching history on Earth in the late twentieth century. She'd been renting the house for long enough to have given it a personal touch, and a few days ago she'd darted ahead to what would eventually be the ruins of Hepaxia VI and left a simple note: _Hello Sweetie. Dinner?_ Followed by coordinates and a date and time.

He'd shown up just a few minutes early, and they'd done diaries before even starting dinner. He was later along in her timeline than she'd expected, late enough to have done Utah the second time around and to have seen her in her younger days. She'd just done Utah the second time around as well, and it was gratifying and heartbreaking to have him along so late, so she could do more than just tease him with spoilers and a smile. She could brush his hand with hers as they made dinner together. She could steal small kisses, and plant a few of her own. She could grab his bum on her way to the fridge, and laugh when he squealed and scolded her for the surprise.

But she might not be so lucky next time. She might have to be more careful next time. She might not be able to kiss him, or even tease him much, next time. The thought made her pause several times that evening, and he noticed every time, damn him. He asked what was wrong, and every time she shook her head and said, _Nothing, my love_.

She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind as she leaned into him now, closing her eyes as he stroked her hair gently, enjoying his company, his _there_-ness, in a way she wasn't always able to. They didn't often have quiet moments like these, though she remembered a number of times when he went to extraordinary lengths to make sure they did. She liked those times. She wished they could have more of them, though she loved the adventuring with its inappropriate flirting and ill-timed kisses (and very, _very_ occasionally, ill-timed sex) just as much.

They hadn't spoken much after clearing up dinner. She'd asked him if he wanted another drink while she poured her own, and by unspoken agreement they settled on the couch and into each other. They stared out the open windows at the neat little lawns of the surrounding houses, at the fading sunlight shining golden on the trees. She'd seen half a million wonders of the universe, but this was in its ordinary way quite beautiful.

She reached up and took his hand, lacing her fingers between his slowly. She heard his breath catch for just a moment when she touched him, _heard_ the smile spread across his face, and a second later felt the flickering touch of his affection in the back of her mind, all golden warmth and bright blue happiness, and she smiled in return.

She liked these moments.

Still smiling, she turned her head and kissed his cheek, a kiss that was more than just a fleeting peck, and behind the kiss she returned his affections. He smiled wider and squeezed her hand as she settled back against him.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly.

"Don't I always, dear?"

"Well, you have on occasion been very late."

"Not always," he protested, looking down at her. "Not when it counted, anyway."

"And what about Belvyar?" she asked.

"That doesn't count! I was only twenty minutes late, and we sorted it out in the end. It was just a bit… messier. So it doesn't count, not remotely."

"All right, love." She let go of his hand so she could sit up and face him. "But thank you." She put one hand on the nape of his neck, her fingers catching in his hair a little, then pulled him closer and kissed him properly for the first time that evening.

She started slowly, though she knew she didn't need to. He knew who she was, and at this point in their timelines he was her husband as surely as she was his wife. But she gently teased him along, kissing his lips several times in succession, pulling away just slightly between each one, just enough to frustrate him. Only when he cupped her head with one hand, his fingers tangling in her curls, did she begin in earnest, throwing her teasing decorum aside.

She kissed him with a passion she generally reserved for lovemaking, her tongue sliding past his lips, tasting a sweet hint of the cider he'd been drinking. The flavor made a smile tug at her lips for just a moment, and then she reached up with her right hand to rub his cheek as she kissed him harder. He echoed the gesture, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, his touch making her shiver and moan softly. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, and she pulled herself closer to him, swinging one leg across his lap so that she was practically on top of him. His other hand found her hip, and he held her to him as his teeth briefly caught her lip.

She laughed through the kiss and playfully returned the nibble as she raised one hand to run her fingers through his hair again. Her other hand drifted to his bow tie, possibilities running through her mind even as a part of her remembered that they were in her sitting room, with the windows and the curtains wide open to the world. There would be more than enough time for that later, she thought. This was just warming up.

They held each other and continued kissing for a few minutes more, and when they finally broke apart, they were both smiling. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then settled back onto the sofa, bringing her other leg around so that she was half in his lap, half on the cushion. She snatched her glass off the coffee table and downed a couple swallows of wine. He didn't reach for his glass, but watched her, smiling, one hand almost absent-mindedly stroking her leg. She smiled back at him and took another, larger sip of wine before setting her glass down and leaning into him again. He put his other arm around her shoulders and she snaked one arm between his back and the sofa so she could hold him as well. She rested her head on his shoulder, and after a moment he abandoned her legs and held her hand lightly, his thumb drifting slowly across her knuckles.

There was for a few minutes silence and togetherness, and River closed her eyes and breathed deep, enjoying the warmth of his presence and the gentle smell of the TARDIS that always lingered about him. In the here and now she could almost forget that mere months ago she had given him _his_ first kiss with her, and that the thing she feared the most was another day closer to coming true. She worried every time she left him a note or heard the wheezing groan of the TARDIS engines that he would know her less.

She wanted more moments like this, more moments of quiet happiness with him, because she was afraid that sometime very soon she was never going to have them again.

He saw her thinking. "River? What's the matter?" His smile had faded, and his brow was furrowed in concern.

She almost repeated her lie, the lie that had gotten her through the evening, but she couldn't. "I'm afraid…" She trailed off, staring at their hands in her lap because she could not look him in the face. Her throat tightened, and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She had to take a moment to compose herself and her words before she spoke again, but he waited for her, his grip on her hand warm and solid, his arm around her shoulders a comforting weight.

"I just… I'm so afraid of losing you, my love," she said, looking up at him at last. She saw the pain in his expression as she said the words, and she saw it grow worse as she continued, "I know—it's coming soon for me, isn't it? And I don't—I'm not sure what I'll do after that."

She knew even as she said the words that he couldn't help her. It had already happened for him, of course, some time in his distant past, and how many times had he told her of the dangers of crossing one's timestream? Time could be rewritten, but not all of it, and it seemed sometimes to her that their stories were carved in stone even as they were playing out.

He held her gaze, and she could see the pain in his eyes as he surely saw it in hers. He said nothing, but let go of her hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb deftly brushing away a tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. Then slowly he pulled her to him and kissed her, and as she held him close, her arms embracing him lightly, she felt his mind open to hers, and she felt his sorrow and his regret wash through her, echoing and complementing the way she felt herself. But as the kiss continued, she felt something warmer from him, a gentle wave of love and affection and the unarticulated assurance that he would always love her and that he _knew_ she would retain her strength and poise in the days to come, no matter what happened.

It was the only comfort he could offer her, but it was enough. Enough to know that he believed in her, that he loved her. Enough that he held her now and told her all was well. It was a lie, but it was a lie they'd always had. All was well, but soon it wouldn't be. Soon their story would end, or it would end for her and begin for him, or maybe their story was forever, playing out across the whole of space and time, never-ending. They would make it through the ending—they had already made it through. As much as it sometimes frightened her, and as much as it broke her heart, she could imagine a future without him.

But they were together _now_.

She pulled out of the kiss, but remained close, her forehead resting against his. His love still poured slowly into her mind, warm and surrounding and endless. "Thank you, my love," she whispered.

He smiled. "Anything for you, my dear," he whispered in return.

Their lips met again, and they held each other as the sunlight died away.


End file.
